


Bell The Cat

by masongirl



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Action, Affection, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Cats, Crimes & Criminals, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Halloween, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Investigations, Kissing, M/M, Piper Chuck, Protests, Scars, Selkies, Shapeshifting, Soldiers, Succubi & Incubi, Vampires, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26318257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Carwood has no idea what he's getting himself into when he saves a wounded stray cat on his way home from work.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs, George Luz/Joseph Toye, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Shifty Powers/Floyd Talbert
Comments: 93
Kudos: 88





	1. The Demise of a Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, humans and supernatural creatures live peacefully together, but recently, someone has been targeting and hunting down creatures in Carwood's city.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is total fiction based on the HBO show and has nothing to do with the real veterans.

Carwood would be the first to admit that his life has hit a rough patch recently. It’s not _terrible_ \- he still has his best friend, his boring job and his flat - but George moved out a month ago and without him, the days seem bleaker and laughter is gone. If he could, he would follow George’s example and find company that goes beyond casual, but he’s not very interesting, and his love life is deader than a vampire with a stake in its undead heart. He thought about going out, but it’s not his idea of fun anymore. Maybe he’s getting old, he doesn’t know. He tried online dating once and was discouraged for life. Everyone seemed to be looking for creatures to satisfy some fetish they thought they had, and it disgusted him.

He’s walking home in the unsettling darkness of the night, contemplating his future, when a noise from the alley ahead makes him pause. He holds his breath and can just barely hear it - a soft, plaintive little noise that must belong to a wounded animal. Although this kind of behaviour might get him killed one day, he rushes to the large metal trash bins behind the corner without a second thought. 

There’s an abandoned cardboard box squished in the gap between two bins and in it, a rather large black-and-white cat with its right paw bent at an unnatural angle. Probably broken, quite badly so. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” Carwood sighs and sticks his arm in the gap as far as he can, but it’s still inches away from the animal. He wriggles his fingers. “Come here, kitty, come."

The cat hisses. 

“Not a friendly one, are you?” Carwood smiles and leans back to look around for something to use. He doesn’t have any food or treats to coax the cat out and he draws the line at diving into the trash for leftovers, but he finds the broken handle of a broom and he figures that will do. Since he won't be able to drag the box out with it, he'll have to prod at the poor kitten until it tries to flee. He takes his sweater off in advance, ready to catch it once it bolts.

"Sorry, buddy." He tells the hostile feline and taps the wooden handle against its side. "You might not make it if we don't treat that leg."

The cat scoots closer to the trash bin and hides its face against it, meowing softly. It must be in immense pain. Carwood's heart breaks for it, but the bins are too heavy for him to move, he needs it to come out. He pokes the cat's ribs.

He almost topples over in fright when it shoots off, tearing out of the nook by scratching at Carwood's shins, but he manages to wrap it in the sweater just in time to keep it from scurrying further down the alley. Grinning in relief, he scoops it up. The cat growls up a storm and trashes, but the thick fabric covers its head and it can't rip through it with its claws.

"Shh, it's all right. Everything will be okay." Carwood tries to soothe it, gripping it tightly around its body and by the scruff as he resumes his walk back home. Just five more minutes and they will be safely inside. "I'll get you patched up, don't you worry."

  
  


As soon as the front door closes behind them, the cat goes unnaturally still in his arms. For a second, he panics, thinking it passed away from shock or an internal wound, but it looks relatively okay when he pulls the sweater back and glances at its face. Carwood grabs a plastic basket he uses for the laundry and gingerly places the cat inside, leaving it wrapped in the sweater. It stares at him with wide black pupils and an open mouth, prepared to snarl or bite. When Carwood doesn't reach for it again, it shifts a little in the soft cocoon, but doesn't move its right leg. The mangled paw looks horrible, and now that Carwood looks at it from up close, he can also see a puncture wound in it. There's blood caked into the fur around it.

"What happened to you, hm?" He wonders in sympathy. "Did you step in a trap?"

The cat bares its teeth and its tail lashes back and forth in a sudden surge of irritation. Carwood shakes his head. It must have been a trap. He just hopes it wasn't meant to harm pets. Or worse. Since George came out to him about his dating preferences, he's been following the news about the supernatural community more closely and noticed that the number of freak accidents involving creatures is on the rise this year. Some newspapers debated whether it's a coincidence or the work of a new radical sect, others mentioned wolfsbane misuse and self-appointed vigilantes - it's not much of a leap to think there may be some traps out there. This poor cat might have stepped into one.

It's not doing so well at the moment. It tries to stand up again and crawl out of the basket, but it doesn't get further than putting its good paw on the rim and hanging its head down over it before it starts gagging and throws up. It comes out with a horrible sound, and Carwood's chest tightens in sorrow as he tries to soothe it by caressing its back. He doesn't mind the mess, he'll clean it up. He just wants the little one to live. Although its coat has a few dirty splotches in it, its fur seems like it has been shiny clean not long ago. The cat must have been in good health before it fell into the trap. It's enough to hope for its recovery.

Carwood runs to the kitchen cupboard and grabs a roll of paper towels. When he comes back, the cat falls back into the basket and seems to give up on fleeing. It lies motionless, eyes closed and its white belly heaving. It growls when Carwood touches it, but lets him tuck the sweater fully around it. 

"I'm going to call a friend, just hang on a little longer." He pets the cat's head, then turns to clean up its vomit on the floor. There's blood and silver in the puddle.

  
  


After hours spent waiting on the couch and wiping puke every few minutes, it's a relief to hear the doorbell ring. Carwood jumps up and rushes to get it, rubbing at his aching, tired eyes.

"Hey, Doc."

"Lipton." Roe nods at him with a small smile. He's pale and obviously exhausted, but his eyes are as sharp as ever. "Sorry for the wait. I had a busy shift."

"It's all right, Sparky is still conscious."

"Sparky?" Roe hums, but doesn't comment on the name or the fact that Carwood came up with it within three hours of catching the cat. Originally, it was the brightness in its green eyes that inspired him, but, as gross as it is, the silver vomit solidified it. Sparky hissed when he announced it, none too pleased about its name, but it's just too perfect not to use.

The first thing Carwood asks once they are settled in his living room and Sparky is up on Roe's makeshift examination table, held by the scruff and growling to high heaven again, is something that has been making him anxious ever since he found the little guy. "Any chance it's a shifter?"

"It surely would have changed by now." Roe says in his smooth, calm voice and gives Carwood a sad look. "This isn't my only case with a leg wound and acute poisoning. Someone in the neighbourhood is trying to catch creatures by trapping animals and pouring silver on them. I've never heard of anyone who could withstand that without shifting. And if it had shifted…" He sighs and strokes Sparky's matted black fur gently. "I don't think a shifter would have been able to escape alive. We can test it though."

"Oh, no." Carwood feels both livid and achingly sad for all the poor creatures this unknown monster tortured. "Poor Sparky must have been through enough stress already."

Roe nods and turns back to the obviously disgruntled cat. He grabs its flicking tail. "All right, just to double-check… Yeah, it's a tom. Want to get him neutered?"

Carwood hasn't even thought of that yet but the last thing he wants is his furniture sprayed. "Yes."

As if on cue, Sparky's claws scramble at the slippery coffee table with a cringeworthy scratching sound and he almost tears himself out of Roe's grip despite the broken leg. Roe has to use all his magical skills to get him still again. He opens his bag and grabs a syringe. 

"This is a painkiller for his leg. Bring him in tomorrow. He'll probably feel under the weather for a few more days and we'll have to put that paw in a cast. Otherwise, he's in excellent shape, but I would rather wait with the neutering until he's fully fit."

"Of course." Carwood smiles back, even as it suddenly dawns on him that his place isn't prepared for a live-in pet at all. 

Doc stays around for an hour or so, but when it seems certain that Sparky won't throw up anymore, he leaves. Carwood locks up after him, then shuffles back to the cat with a huge yawn. He finds him in much better shape already, weakly grooming the broken leg. When Carwood kneels next to his basket and stretches a hand out towards his face, he doesn't snarl anymore, just leans away, ears flattened and pointed back. Despite his worry and exhaustion, Carwood smiles. He's sure now that the cat will live and, he thinks, they might even become friends.

The next morning, while Sparky is in surgery for his leg, he runs out to the nearby pet store and buys every necessary supply he can. Litter, litter box, food, a cute bed… Even a handsome blue collar, because he's already smitten and knows he has to keep this giant, aggressive baby after all the things he's been through. How could he not?

Sparky spends most of that day passed out, but when Carwood starts cooking dinner in the evening, he sits up in his brand new bed and meows, just once. 

"Oh, is someone hungry?" Carwood grins and kneels in front of the cat again. "You have to take it easy for a few days, boy. No feasts for you yet."

He places a new bowl on the floor next to the one filled with water and pours a small amount of kibble in it. The cat meows again, not moving towards his meal. When Carwood nudges his side, he hisses. He gives the kibble a disdainful look. The realization hits Carwood like a freight train - this is going to be much more difficult than he imagined. Like having a baby. Who knows what it's crying for?

He ends up giving up a small portion of his own meal, and it may be his biggest mistake yet because after Sparky realises what a pushover he is, he doesn't eat anything but homecooked human food. True to Roe's word, he's not very active for a few days, and after work, Carwood always finds him where he left him, sleeping, curled up. The only difference to the day he picked him up is that Sparky's coat is shiny black and white again, not a speck of dirt on it. On the third day, however, Carwood comes home to the gory remains of a massacre. 

"Seriously?" He mutters to himself, picking up a piece of his ruined, shredded sweater from the floor. He turns to the cat smugly perching on the kitchen counter. "What a vengeful kitten you are. Are you satisfied now?"

Sparky jumps down gracefully and limps over to him in his cast. He reaches out and sinks a claw of his good leg into Carwood's trousers. His expression resembles a smug smile.


	2. A Deal

It’s the loud clatter echoing through his apartment that scares Carwood awake on Saturday. He sits up with his heart pounding frantically in his chest, but it only takes a second to remember that he became a cat owner four days ago and handling various disasters in his home is probably a part of his life now. He sighs and follows the sounds of rustling to his bathroom, where he finds the laundry hamper upended and his dirty clothes spilled on the floor. In the middle of it all, Sparky lounges like a loaf of bread and glares up at him. The awkward bulk of his broken leg stretched out in front of him reminds Carwood of a stuffed animal.

“Sparky!” He exclaims and claps to chase the cat out of the room. Sparky doesn’t even flinch. “Look at the mess you made! Shoo!”

His scolding has no positive effect whatsoever - in fact, as if he was the one wronged here, Sparky flicks his tail in irritation and growls low in his throat, threatening. When Carwood shakes his head and reaches for him, he hisses. His ears flatten to his head again. Thoroughly annoyed now, Carwood lunges, and somehow, through sheer luck, he manages to grab Sparky’s scruff without getting his arms flayed. He starts pulling him up by that grip and by sliding one hand under his chest, but Sparky resists, clinging to the pile of clothes with all his might. Carwood has to pry the fabric off his sharp claws, risking the still intact skin on his fingers. 

“This isn’t your room.” He chides as he drags the cat to the threshold. “Get out of here.”

It’s only when he turns and rights the hamper that he notices the pile of wrinkled receipts among his shirts and jeans. What the hell? Did Sparky fish them out of his pockets to collect them? Why? Carwood has heard of kleptomaniac kittens before, but stealing slips of paper doesn’t make much sense to him, and hoarding them makes even less. Perhaps it’s the crinkling noise? _Probably,_ he concludes and puts his clothes back in the hamper. He throws the receipts in the bathroom bin. 

It’s strangely quiet when he exits the room. His cat is nowhere to be seen, and the door of his bedroom is ajar, even though he always makes sure to close it because he doesn’t want fur on all his clothes and bedsheets. Damn it, Sparky must have found a way to open it and sneak inside. Carwood rushes to catch him before he makes a nest on his pillow or burrows into his blanket, but instead of finding him settling down in Carwood's bed, he spots Sparky with his good paw on the bedside table and Carwood’s wallet in his mouth.

“Hey!” Carwood yelps and jumps after him. Sparky startles, but doesn’t drop the wallet - he just sinks his little teeth deeper into the leather and makes a run for it. He speeds past Carwood’s hands and out the door while Carwood chases him, and they race all over the flat until Sparky’s paws skid on the slippery tiles of the hallway and he stumbles just long enough for Carwood to catch him. Panting, he retrieves his wallet from the floor and laughs.

“What are you doing?” He keeps snickering and pets the cat’s ruffled back. 

To his utter surprise, Sparky doesn’t seem disgruntled by the touch this time, just watches him with his green eyes wide from something akin to surprise. His fur is silky soft and thick under the caressing fingers, but the strength of the muscles underneath is evident nevertheless. Carwood uses the opportunity to try touching Sparky’s belly for the first time and gets a half-hearted little growl for his efforts. He grins and lets the cat go before it lashes out again. God, it has been a while since he had such a good laugh. 

He has two goals this weekend - putting the collar on Sparky and making him comfortable enough to hear him purr. He's not sure if their altercation this morning helped, but he's determined to get past Sparky's angry, hostile facade. There's nothing else for him to do today anyway, and he can take a few scratches no problem. It can't be worse than the wounds that left his scars, right?

Before breakfast, Carwood strips down to his underwear and starts his morning workout as usual. He leaves his door open on purpose so that he can hear if something is knocked over in the kitchen or George's old room, but sometime after his thirtieth sit-up, he forgets about it and turns his full focus to his exercise. That's still not an acceptable excuse for the way he jumps when he looks up during his push-ups and sees Sparky directly in front of him, sitting still like a statue.

"Hey, boy." Carwood smiles and continues pushing himself up and down despite the sweat rolling down his arms and chest. Sparky stares at him, not shifting or blinking even once. His eyes move up and down with Carwood's movements.

"Are you bored? Do you want to play?" Carwood asks as he finishes his round and sits back on his haunches. 

When Sparky takes a tentative step forward, Carwood grabs his towel and wipes the sweat on his damp abdomen, then stretches his arm towards him, offering pets. Predictably, the cat gives it a wide berth, but he seems curious, rather than aggressive as he pads close enough to sit between Carwood's knees. The curve of his body is so tempting, Carwood barely resists scooping him up for a cuddle. He stays still though, even as Sparky raises his good paw and bats at his chest.

"Oh, so you do want to play." Carwood grins and grabs the chain of his dog tags to make them jiggle. Sparky's pupils dilate. "Got you."

He takes them off and holds them above Sparky's head, waiting for him to pounce, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Sparky circles them to a spot where he can see the information stamped on them and tilts his head to the side. If Carwood didn't know better he'd think his cat actually tried to read his name, but he reminds himself that it's beyond unlikely that a shifter would go through what Sparky did without changing shapes. He writes the cat's strange behaviour off as another quirk and leaves it at that.

They watch TV together that evening. Well, Carwood does, and Sparky follows the flash of images with his gaze from the armrest of Carwood's couch. When the daily news start, he sits up and fixes his attention on the screen. His ears point straight at the device.

"Interested in politics?" Carwood chuckles, then turns back to the report on the newest gruesome case the local police department has to deal with.

 _"- found two unidentified undead staked and another in critical condition."_ The report cuts to a moldy cellar and the bright yellow police tape at its entrance. _"The Department of Nonhuman Offenses offers a reward for anyone who can provide information on the whereabouts of a homicide detective who has been missing since the discovery. The officer's blood -"_

"God, I can't listen to this any longer." Carwood shakes his head and switches it off. What the hell is going on in his city?

Before he can let the trepidation vanish from his thoughts, Sparky jumps down from his perch and gives him a shrill meow, suddenly agitated. He paws at Carwood's hand, scraping his skin with his claws. Carwood puts the remote away and uses that hand to scratch Sparky's head. "I know, darling, but it's not your dinnertime yet."

He has no idea why, but he can't stop himself from reverting to baby talk, even though Sparky is bigger than a small dog. He's a fully grown cat, and a none too docile one at that. Now, though, after Carwood denied him his meal, he seems listless and cranky. He leans away from Carwood's touch, then jumps off the couch to go sit on the windowsill and watch the streets outside. Carwood tries to mollify him, but his attempts are met with pissed-off growls.

"Okay, I'll back off." He smiles fondly and opens his book. Sparky needs to learn some patience.

The next morning, when he tries to reach for his phone on the bedside table, his hand is slapped twice by Sparky's paw. He squints an eye open and sees that since dawn, his cat has swept all the trinkets and personal possessions off that piece of furniture so that he could claim the sunny spot there for himself. Once again, he made it inside somehow despite the closed door. At this point, Carwood is convinced that Sparky knows what door handles are.

"Good morning." Carwood smiles and receives a lazy blink in return. He wishes he could stroke the thick black fur on Sparky's back that seems almost russet from the ray of sunshine warming it, but he's not allowed yet. "I'm going out to have breakfast with a friend today. Want me to get you some of that ham you wolfed down yesterday?"

He raises a hand and, for the first time, Sparky headbutts it instead of reenacting the Matrix to avoid it altogether. Carwood's smile curves wider. "Not so moody anymore, huh?"

He throws his blanket off and sits up to collect the discarded blue collar from the carpet. Slowly, so as not to disturb his cat's fragile serenity, he loops it around Sparky's neck. He waits for a reaction with bated breath, but no sharp teeth flash at him in warning and Sparky's good leg remains tucked under his chest. 

"Good boy." He grins and buckles the leather. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

Sparky gives him a disdainful look and goes back to sleep.

* * *

The El Cielo is Carwood's favourite coffee shop in the neighbourhood. It's a quaint little place on the corner of a small cobblestone street and a park, providing precious respite from the city’s noise and stressed bustle. It caters to everyone, including nonhuman minorities, and has a vast selection of hot beverages and pastries. Shifty, the owner, is the nicest guy Carwood has ever met. He has a smile for every customer and his gaze always beams warmth and comfort, even on the gloomiest days. This is why Carwood wanted to bring Tab here after he heard about the break-up.

“Honestly, Lip, I think I’ll never find a person who can truly love me unless I fast for the rest of my life.” Tab tells him dejectedly when they sit down by one of the large windows. He stirs his cinnamon latte like he wants to drown his tears in it. “My entire existence is a curse.”

“That’s not true.” Lip squeezes his shoulder and gives him a sympathetic smile. “We all struggle to find the right partner. You just need to look for someone who’s energetic and accepting.”

“It’s not that simple.” Tab shakes his head and breaks his Danish pastry in half. “I can’t keep them around after the first night."

Carwood glances at the werewolf couple a few tables away and swallows a bitter remark about his own love life. "Do you tell them?"

"I do, yes. Usually." Tab nods. "But you know how it is. No matter how brave they claim they are, the slumber scares them."

"I’m sorry." Carwood makes a face and pats Tab’s arm again. He imagines it must be frightening to sleep for fifteen hours or more after every time they have sex with Tab.

"Lip, you don’t have to keep trying to feed me." Tab chuckles and brushes Carwood’s hand away. "I’m used to it, I’ve been an incubus all my life. Let me mope this week and I’ll bounce back the next.” He takes a sip of his coffee and his face brightens. “I like this place."

Carwood smiles. "It's nice, isn't -"

"I'm not going to sit next to a filthy mutt!” Someone yells by the counter, pointing at the dumbfounded werewolves. When Carwood gets a clear view of the guy, he recognizes him as his sadistic P.E. teacher from high school, Mr Sobel. Looks like the last fifteen years haven’t been kind to him - he looks hateful and bitter. “Call animal control, their beasts escaped from the pound."

“W-We don’t offer species-specific seating.” The barista stammers, but to everyone's relief, she’s saved by her boss' sudden appearance. 

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave." Shifty says, polite as ever, but his usually warm brown eyes seem to glitter from cold fury. 

Sobel doesn’t put up a fight, probably sensing that he’s outnumbered here, and he stomps out of the shop huffing and grumbling under his breath. _Speciesist asshole,_ Carwood thinks and turns back to resume his conversation, but Tab isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s still staring at the manager, lips parted and face flushed.

"Hey, Lip, do you know him?"

"Shifty? He's a pretty sweet guy, but I don't know him well."

"Sweet? Yeah, I bet." Tab mumbles, then blinks and snaps out of it as if nothing happened. "Anyway. Have you heard of this new construction project downtown?"

* * *

Sparky's waiting for him on the kitchen counter again when he gets back home. If it wasn't for the cast, Carwood would push him off immediately, but he doesn't want him to hurt himself, so he just grabs his squirming, fluffy body and lowers him to the floor. "No."

Undeterred, Sparky crouches down to jump back up. 

"No, stop it!" Carwood laughs and catches him mid-jump. Sparky hisses, but doesn't wriggle out of Carwood's hold when he's cradled to Carwood's chest. 

"Let's make a deal." Carwood tells him somberly. He doesn't know what he expects from a discussion with a cat, but talking to Sparky and pretending they understand each other amuse him in his loneliness. It's nice to have someone, even if he acts like an incorrigible brat. "I'll let you keep the jewels if you behave and don't spray anything. What do you say, buddy?" 

Sparky stares at him with his sharp green eyes and puts a soft paw on Carwood's chin. Carwood smiles.


	3. A New Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me a message in the last few days, they meant a lot. :)

Tuesday evening, exactly one week after he found Sparky in that dirty alley, Carwood buys him a little present and hides it in his pocket to see if he will notice it anyway.

He does. It doesn't take more than ten minutes and Sparky figures it out. He sniffs the air tentatively, inching closer and closer to Carwood until his irises are completely swallowed by black and his tail twitches. He starts weaving endless figure eights around Carwood's legs, trying to draw his attention away from his dinner. 

Carwood chuckles. He squeezes mayo on his sandwich. "Oh, you can smell it already?"

Sparky doesn't appreciate the teasing. He puts his good paw high up on Carwood's leg and draws it down, claws out. It's a miracle that Carwood's jeans are thick enough to endure that impatient warning without ripping. Carwood bends down and pets his cat's head. He gets bitten for his effort, but it's merely a nip and doesn't hurt as much as the first few times Sparky got him. It could be considered affectionate, even.

"You're going soft, boy." He grins and pulls the bag out of his pocket. He waves it in front of his cat's nose. "Do you want it?"

Fast as lightning, Sparky jumps up and tears it out of his grip, scurrying away as if Carwood would take the catnip mouse back any minute. He takes his prey to the cushion he claimed on the couch and curls up with it, rubbing his face to the toy and chewing at it with enthusiasm. When Carwood plops down next to him with his dinner, he glances up and seems to consider something. He looks high as a kite.

"I called Doc Roe today." Carwood murmurs and extends a hand. Sparky, the blissed-out mess he is, rolls his fluffy body into it and shifts until Carwood's palm is trapped under his side. He doesn't budge when Carwood curls his index finger to poke him. "What, you don't care?"

Sparky kicks the catnip mouse off the couch and looks at Carwood upside-down. His noisy exhale resembles a sigh. Carwood grins and wriggles his fingers under his cat's body. "He said he'd remove your implants in two weeks if the X-ray looks good. How does that sound? No more metal in your paw." 

Sparky closes his eyes and purrs, just once, then falls asleep like that, holding Carwood's hand captive.

* * *

That weekend, George shows up at their doorstep with a box of cat accessories and a Chesire grin. Carwood takes one look at the assortment of toys and grooming products and feels a headache coming. Trying to comb Sparky's fur sounds like a suicide mission.

"I told you, he's not a kitten. He won't play with you."

George pffs. "Nonsense. Every cat does. We just have to find the right prey." He picks up a stuffed bird and makes the bells on it jiggle.

Carwood shakes his head but lets him enter the flat. "Be careful, he's a little difficult."

He expects the usual quiet disdain Sparky tends to welcome him with, but when he turns away from the door, an ungodly growl pierces his ears and he hears George's box hit the ground.

"Jesus Christ! A little difficult?" George yelps and jumps back from the enraged, puffed up ball of fur hissing and charging at him with its claws. "What breed is this? Hellcat?"

"Sparky! Shoo!" Carwood scolds and swings an arm towards his cat, trying to protect George's shins from getting mauled. Sparky's ears flatten to his head as he ducks away, but his tail stays bushy like a duster. "What the hell, animals usually like you."

George clears his throat awkwardly and shifts from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. "It might be the, you know."

"The what?"

George gives him a look. As if he should know. "Werewolves scent their mates, Lip." 

"Oh." Although Carwood can't remember what exactly scenting entails, he guesses it must be an intimate topic because there aren't many things that make George Luz uncomfortable.

"Yeah. And, uh, Joe says animals react strangely to his smell sometimes, so I guess your cat can sense it on me. Maybe if I took a shower?"

"Sure, go ahead."

When George leaves for the bathroom, Sparky runs after him from behind a shelf, but Carwood blocks his way and pushes him back. Crouching, he gives Sparky a stern look. Not that a cat could understand human expressions, but he feels compelled to do it anyway. 

"You're a bad boy." He whispers. Sparky deflates, then tries to play cute and headbutts Carwood's knee. "Uh-huh. You don't fool me. Be nice to our guest, okay?"

He keeps petting his cat until George comes back out, slightly damp and smelling like citrus. When he gets within arm's reach, Sparky snarls, but he doesn't attack again. That makes George grin in triumph. "He looks a little less evil now. I'm telling you, Lip, your cat and I will be best friends before you know it."

As if on cue, Sparky growls and struts away to sit on the windowsill. Carwood laughs.

"I see you still don't have a new flatmate." George remarks as they settle down on the couch.

"Sparky keeps me company." Carwood replies to ease some of the worry clouding George's face. But it's no use - George is too observant to let him deflect that easily.

"Why don't you come visit us sometime?" He asks, nudging Carwood's shoulder. "You know that Joe is - he's not like that."

Carwood swallows. He likes Joe, he's a good guy, but he's still a wolf. His packmates are bound to appear around him sooner or later and Carwood doubts he can stand being around a bunch of unknown wolves without panicking. Even if he knows they're friendly. "George, I'm fine on my own. I'm not lonely, I swear."

George purses his lips, but lets it go for now. He tips his head in Sparky's direction. "How's the leg?"

"The cast gives him a limp, but it's not that bad." Carwood goes over to the window and picks his cat up. He's rewarded with a growl, but Sparky doesn't fight the hold and stays on the couch when Carwood places him on the cushion between him and George. "Doc put metal pins in his paw to keep the bones in place. He figures Sparky was caught in a therian trap."

"Fuck." George swears in sympathy. "But he's just a cat, right? Not a creature."

"Yes, I think so."

"You didn't check?"

"There's no reason to stress him. He would have shifted by now if he was more than a cat."

George's brows furrow in a thoughtful frown. "What if those pins keep him in this shape?"

Sparky's tail starts whipping back and forth in agitation, so Carwood strokes his back to soothe him. "What do you mean?"

"Ever noticed that wolves don't wear piercings around the full moon? I think you can get seriously screwed up if you shift with a foreign body inside you."

"I didn't think of that."

George shrugs. "I mean, it's just an idea. What do I know?"

"More than me." Carwood sighs. "But he could shift if he wanted, right? Why would he stay around and play my pet?"

"I don't know." George says. He sounds like he's starting to doubt his own theory too. "Maybe he's right-handed and doesn't want to fuck up his fingers?"

Carwood snorts and pulls Sparky into his lap. There's no way his cat is a shifter. It wouldn't make any sense. He would have died from the amount of silver he threw up when Carwood found him. "Admit it, you just want this to be more exciting than it is."

George laughs, and they dismiss the topic altogether. Sparky stays in Carwood's lap and keeps his eyes on George with curious, wary distrust.

* * *

They get along surprisingly well after that first fortnight. Sparky's presence chases some of Carwood's loneliness away. He has someone to talk to. He can rant about his day when he comes home, can show Sparky his favourite movies or sing to him until Sparky meows in distress. He can cook for two and buy as many gifts as he wants. It brightens his life that there's someone he can take care of. With each evening they spend together, they grow closer and closer and he feels increasingly optimistic about his future. It's not as simple as having silent company - sometimes, he's convinced his cat truly understands him and the way he feels. 

One night, he's sipping tea on the couch, a book in his lap and Sparky curled up on the cushion next to him, when he comes to a depressing realisation. "I've become a crazy cat guy."

Sparky looks up and extends his good paw until it touches Carwood's arm. Then, he scrapes his claws on Carwood's skin as if to say that he's being ridiculous. Carwood shakes his head, smiling. "Very reassuring, Sparky."

He sets the book aside and pulls out his phone. His thumb hovers over an app he hasn't looked at in a long while. "Do you think I should give it another chance?"

Although he doesn't understand it of course, Sparky sits up, then jumps up on the back of the couch to look at Carwood's phone over his shoulder. His whiskers brush Carwood's ear and tickle. Carwood wants to pull up a game to see if Sparky will attack the screen, but he decides not to tempt fate and opens the dating app instead. The first profile he comes across displays a handsome guy with sad blue eyes and curly hair. He's sitting on a bench overlooking the sea.

"Bibliophile selkie looking for the prince who'll keep his skin forever." Carwood reads aloud and swipes left when Sparky yawns. The guy seemed to ooze melancholy, and that's the last thing he needs. 

The next few suggestions are all humans, but neither catches Carwood's eye, then there's a werewolf with bulging muscles and a bushy beard. All his pictures feature a group of people, he's never alone. Carwood rolls his eyes.

"Do they always have to pose with their pack?" He sighs, and Sparky headbutts his nape. "Yeah. Ridiculous."

He presses pass. Lycanthropes make him uncomfortable, and for a good reason too. He scans another half a dozen profiles before his motivation crashes and the familiar sadness that permeates his days since he left the army comes back. Depressed, he throws his phone on the cushions and covers his face with his hands. Minutes pass in complete silence before he feels a strange, damp sensation on the side of his head. Something tugs on his hair. 

"Are you grooming me?" He huffs an astonished laugh. "Sparky!"

His only answer is a slow rumble that trembles through the back of the couch. Carwood leans forward to glance at his cat and finds him looking back, sleepy and content. He radiates comfort. 

"Was that a purr?" Carwood grins. In response, Sparky's body rumbles louder. "Thank you, sweetheart."

He distracts himself with some mindless channel surfing to bury all the disappointment roiling in his stomach. It's hard to get back out there after… after what happened to him overseas. He'd rather lose himself in books or movies for a precious few hours than think about werewolves again. He chances upon the news and moves to press on the remote again, but something catches his eye and he does a double take. He spots Mr Sobel among the gaggle of protesters shown in the footage. They are demonstrating against the demolition of the Therian Community Centre, according to the headline. And yet, avid animal hater Sobel is there in the first row, holding a banner.

"What the hell?" Carwood frowns. He remembers what Tab told him about this project, that there's a campaign fighting to keep the centre because it's a safe place for young creatures. He can't fathom what a man like Sobel would be doing there. Confused, he reaches up and rubs Sparky's ear.

"Why would a raging speciesist go to a pro-therian protest?" He mumbles. Unsurprisingly, Sparky doesn't answer. He stays stock still though, and Carwood hears a popping sound as his claws pierce the back of the couch. 

"I know, I know, this is boring." Carwood chuckles and switches to a music channel. "Let's not ruin our night with Mr Sobel, yeah?"

He rests his head against his cat's fluffy side and closes his eyes. After a minute or two, the purring resumes. 

* * *

The evening after Doc Roe removes the implants from Sparky's paw, a soft little head butts into Carwood's free hand while he's reading a book in bed.

"Hey there." Carwood smiles and strokes the spot between Sparky's ears slowly so as not to spook him. 

It’s still not often that his cat accepts affection without complaint. This time though, to Carwood's immense surprise, Sparky not only lets him pet his fur, but even leans into the caresses, then stands on his hind legs and puts his paws on the edge of the mattress. Carwood strokes his palm down the silky fur on his back and moves his book aside. 

"You want to come up here, don't you?" 

The answer is an enthusiastic yes. Sparky jumps up and settles his delicate twenty-pound body on Carwood's chest, then starts kneading with both of his paws.

"Ow. Thank you for the chest compressions." Carwood winces, grabbing Sparky's left leg before the claws dig his heart out. "Why don't you just lie down instead?"

In response, Sparky throws himself down and lands on Carwood's sternum like a bag of stones, squirming to rub his face to Carwood's neck. Carwood curls his arm around that purring body and smiles. "How come you're so sweet today? Feels better without the cast, huh?"

Sparky makes a 'mrow' sound, then lays his head down to nap. Carwood turns back to his book, but it's not long before the slow purrs and the heavy warmth on his chest lull him to sleep too. He dreams of a man's voice calling for him through the darkness.

When he wakes up in the morning, he has a crick in his neck and his left arm is asleep. There's a blanket around his body, but he has no recollection of getting it for himself. Did he sleepwalk? It has never happened to him before. Why didn't he just use the duvet he's lying on? It's bemusing. He rolls out of bed and looks around for his cat, but all the sunny spots are deserted, the basket is empty and he doesn't hear a single meow when he opens a pack of bacon and asks who's hungry.

That's the point when Carwood's pulse speeds up. Where is his cat? Did he trap himself somewhere? His first thought is the washing machine, then the wardrobe, then George's room, but there's no trace of Sparky anywhere and he begins to panic. What if he let him out of the flat while he sleepwalked? What if someone let him slip out of the building? 

He grabs his bathrobe and rushes out into the stairwell, calling for Sparky, then starts down the stairs hoping against hope that none of his neighbours were stupid enough to shove a collared cat out to the street. He pants and takes the steps two at a time like a maniac, so he's not surprised that the stranger at the bottom freezes by the mailboxes.

"Oh." Carwood stops when their eyes meet. 

The guy's green irises look startlingly familiar, but he can't remember seeing him before. His hair falls over his forehead in shiny dark waves, but his complexion is pale as though he has just recovered from an illness. His clothes look too wide on him, but Carwood finds them nice nevertheless. They look quite similar to some of his own garments. 

"Hello, did you just move in?"

"No." The guy says. He sounds raspy, like he hasn't used his voice in a while. It's another sign pointing to a recent illness. "My friend lives here."

"I see." Carwood smiles, then offers his hand. "Carwood."

The man doesn't move for the longest time, just stares. Long enough that Carwood begins to feel the burn of awkwardness creep up his neck, and it doesn't help that instead of taking Carwood's hand, the stranger sticks out his left. His right is hidden behind his back. "Ron."

Weird, Carwood thinks, but he ignores it and all the instincts that tell him he knows this man. He has a much more important problem right now. "Listen, have you seen a black-and-white cat by any chance? He has a dark blue collar."

Ron's piercing stare doesn't waver, but he purses his lips before he answers. "I haven't."

Carwood runs a hand through his embarrassing bed hair. "I'm so worried. He went missing this morning. How did he even get out of the flat?"

Ron looks down at his shoes. They are the exact same brand as Carwood's trainers. "Maybe he's still there, just hiding."

"I just hope he's okay." Carwood sighs. He pulls out his phone and shows Ron one of the photos he took last night, when Sparky fell asleep on his chest. "Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

"Yes."

Carwood shows him another picture. "Isn't he cute?"

Ron fidgets, flashing an awkward smile. "He's a cat."

He starts to raise his right hand towards his nape, but reconsiders it halfway and hides it behind his back again. Perhaps he has a skin condition, Carwood muses. "Do you think someone let him out? I don't know what I'd do if he didn't come back."

Ron averts his eyes. "You must like him then."

"Yeah." Carwood's lips curl into a sad smile. "I just wish he didn't knead quite so hard."

Ron glances back at him in confusion. "It's a sign of affection."

"I know, that's why I let him. But he uses his claws too much."

"Sorry."

Carwood frowns. That was an original way of expressing sympathy… It sounded like an apology. There's something about this Ron guy that just isn't normal. Unfortunately, Carwood can't stay here any longer to figure it out. He has to find his cat, and if he wants to look for him outside, he'll have to dress up first. He calls the elevator.

"Coming up?"

Ron's unblinking eyes remain fixed on him. "No."

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Ron."

"Likewise."


	4. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Lyselkatz](http://lyselkatz.tumblr.com) made [a super cute piece of art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633350) for this story, please check it out :)

Carwood is inconsolable. It has been three days and his cat is still missing, gone without a trace. How did he get out of the flat? Where did he go? What if he got hurt again? These questions haunt Carwood even in his sleep. Each morning, he wakes up with hope filling his chest only to feel it implode into bitter smithereens when he finds the stairwell empty. He tried everything he could think of. Left him food by the building entrance, checked the closest vet clinics, went back to the alley where he picked Sparky up, printed flyers - but to no avail. In his desperation, he tries to enlist his friends to help too.

"Yes, I can call different types of animals, but not specific ones." Chuck explains on Friday as they wait in front of Shifty's coffee shop. The crowd buzzing around the counter makes it impossible to see if Tab is still standing in the queue or just chatting Shifty up. Carwood wouldn’t mind leaving him to it, but Chuck seems content to stay and soak in the sunshine. They still have ten minutes left of their lunch break. "I’m sorry, Lip, I can’t help you, unless you want all the cats in the neighbourhood to swarm your apartment.”

“I might resort to that if I can’t find him.” Carwood sighs and gives the yellow-brown leaves swirling in the wind a gloomy look.

“You can adopt a kitten from a shelter.” Chuck suggests, then glances at his watch and sighs. "Man, how long does it take to get a muffin here? He’s been inside for ages." He throws his empty paper cup in the bin and touches the instrument hanging from his neck. "If only my pipe worked on incubi."

Carwood elbows him. "Look."

There's no mistaking the telltale shimmering around Tab's face as he leaves the coffee shop. To Carwood, his straight hair looks suddenly wavy and dark, and the gleam in his eyes shifts from its usual softness to something sharper, until Carwood feels a tug low in his gut. As his friend, he can recognise Tab's charm when it's not directed at him, but the people around him don't, and they all turn their heads as Tab passes by with Shifty in tow.

"Can't blame him for taking his time. The guy’s beaming.” Chuck muses, then whistles when Shifty touches Tab’s elbow to say goodbye. He doesn’t even notice it, but all the dogs in the park freeze for a second. “I bet that sated Tab’s hunger for the day."

Carwood shakes his head, smiling. They both know that’s an exaggeration, but Shifty’s brilliant smiles sure make Tab’s day a little sweeter. It's no mystery why Tab keeps coming back to this place.

“I’m doomed, guys. Utterly doomed.” Tab whines dramatically when he reaches them. It's disillusioning to blink and see his normal looks again. “I used my powers.”

"No shit." Chuck deadpans, thumbing at his pipe.

Carwood takes a deep breath. “You know that if you want a lasting relationship -”

“No, I mean…" Tab interrupts him. He runs a jerky hand through his hair. "It didn’t work.”

Carwood frowns. "What? Why?"

"Beats me." Tab spreads his arms. He glances back at the coffee shop with longing. "He could be a fellow incubus."

"Or he's just so damn shy that your little illusion won't make him snap." Chuck offers, then claps Tab's back. "Welcome to human dating, Floyd."

* * *

As much as he wishes things were different, Carwood sympathizes with Tab's struggles. The last time he had a long-term relationship was way back in his army days, and it didn't end well when he came home with ten times as many issues as medals. After that disaster of a breakup, he felt more comfortable with casual partners, and now it's starting to feel like it's too late to deal with his problems and find actual love. Carwood shakes his head as he makes his way up the stairs to his apartment, groceries under his arm. He couldn't even keep a pet around, how could he expect a man to stay?

"Hello." A voice interrupts his dark thoughts.

"Hey." Carwood breaks into a smile as he looks at the guy leaning against the wall next to his front door. "Ron, right? Visiting your friend again?"

"Yes." Ron nods, but doesn't indicate who his friend is. His clothes fit him much better this time, and he switched his trainers to black ankle boots. He has a sleek backpack, and his right hand sports an elastic wrist brace. "Have you found your cat?"

Carwood's lips flatten. He sighs. "Not yet."

"Can I assist in the search?"

"Oh, you don't need to -"

"I want to." Ron pushes himself away from the wall and opens his wallet, flashing a police badge. "I'm a detective. My instincts might come in handy."

Carwood laughs. "All right. Just let me put my things away."

He opens his door and lets Ron in, offering him a drink as he goes inside to load the food into the fridge. Ron stays in the hall, as if he isn't quite at ease in a stranger's apartment and fiddles with his bag. Carwood keeps talking to him to soothe some of that discomfort in the short span of time he needs, then rushes back to the front door. The last thing he wants is to hold Ron up when he was kind enough to offer his help for some unfathomable reason. When Carwood reaches the hall, he finds Ron crouching by the shoe rack. He gestures at Carwood's trainers.

"These are very comfortable shoes."

"Oh, yes, I think we use the same brand." Carwood smiles. He wants to pinch himself for the pathetic thrill this thought sends through his body. He knows himself all too well, he's developing a crush. "Ready to go?"

Ron nods and exits the flat. A ray of sunshine sneaks into the stairwell and lights up the spot where he chooses to stand while Carwood locks the door. It draws golden highlights into his dark hair. He examines the missing pet flyer Carwood stuck on the wall, then takes a step towards the stairs. “Where do you want to start?”

They take a walk around the neighbourhood. Although Carwood’s hopes of finding Sparky are crushed further and further with every empty street they pass, Ron’s company helps him deal with the disappointment. It’s fun to be around him. They barely know each other, but their conversation flows seamlessly, as if they have been friends forever, and Ron’s amusing stiffness makes it easy to forget Carwood's own shortcomings. They get along so well that the first sparks of giddiness begin to bubble in Carwood’s veins and urge him to be daring. He can't help it, he strays a little closer to Ron and lets their arms brush. _Please, don’t pull away,_ he thinks and tries to keep his breathing even when Ron glances at him in the dimming afternoon light.

“I don’t think we’ll find him here.” Ron says quietly and leans ever closer as they reach Carwood's block again. He smells divine. "Let's check the roof."

"The roof?"

"Cats like heights. He could have found his way to the fire escape and climbed up there."

"Okay." Carwood acquiesces. He leads them back inside. "You seem to have a lot of experience with cats."

The implied question makes Ron smile. He looks outright playful as his green eyes flick to Carwood's. "That's one way to put it."

They take the elevator with one of Carwood's neighbours, a nosy old lady called Mrs Mitchell, who always attempts to sell her late husband's trinkets to the other residents. This time, a silver pocket watch. It's impossible to refuse her gently, and Carwood isn't surprised to find Ron backing away from her inch by inch until they reach her floor at long last. They share a look when she finally steps out and they are alone again.

The rooftop of Carwood’s apartment building is grey and barren, save for a few stubborn tufts of grass in the crevices and a flock of battered pigeons huddling together on the ledge. Ron eyes them for a moment, then turns to explore the rest of the place, the piles of brick and construction waste. Carwood doubts his cat would find shelter here, but he's willing to check every possibility at this point. He follows Ron to the other side of the roof, where they lean on the ledge and watch the diluted colours of the setting sun fade from the sky. In the windows of the buildings around them and down the street, the lights flicker on like a myriad of enchanted neon eyes. Carwood enjoys the silence. It doesn't feel tense or awkward, just peaceful, and he wishes he could bottle the moment to take a sip of this feeling whenever he likes.

"Does your hand hurt?" He asks when he notices that Ron keeps flexing his fingers.

"No." Ron replies. "But it's very weak." He opens his palm. "May I?"

Carwood nods, and Ron's hand slips into his. Ron’s grip feels warm and pleasant, but his fingers tremble when he increases the pressure, and his face contorts. "I can't squeeze any harder than that."

Carwood grimaces in sympathy. “What happened?"

“A suspect thought I was a vampire. He staked my palm, then slammed a cage door on it.” Ron grunts and takes his hand back. “A few times.” He amends.

“Does this have anything to do with those dead vamps they found a few weeks ago?”

“Maybe.” Ron hums, then changes the topic without even attempting to be smooth. He touches Carwood’s dog tags with a fingertip. “Army?”

"Ah. Yes." Carwood smiles wryly and points at his cheek. He’d rather not talk about his hip. "I came home with this little souvenir. And some others."

Ron’s fringe tumbles to the other side of his forehead as the wind whips around him, and the collar of his jacket flaps against his neck, but he doesn’t straighten it. He looks intense as he studies Carwood’s face, and the raw honesty in his eyes burns. "They don't make you any less attractive."

Carwood's breath hitches. "What?"

Ron tilts his head, and a barely-there smile brightens his face. "I'd like to get to know you better. We could go out for coffee sometime, if you want."

Despite the flush rising to his skin, Carwood can't scrape the smile off his lips. "I'd like that."

"Great." Ron grins, then turns back to the pigeons and they spend the next minute fighting down stupid smiles and avoiding each other’s gazes in silence. It’s not that enjoyable this time - there’s tension in the air that wasn’t present before. Carwood’s entire body vibrates.

He clears his throat and blurts out the first sentence he can think of. "Do you like birds?"

"As poultry, yes. Chirping, no. They are cocky and annoying.” Ron replies, and Carwood laughs at the way he glares at the sickly grey pigeons.

“You and my cat would get along.” He says, thinking of all the times he caught Sparky hissing at the dirty city doves that sometimes perch on the exterior windowsills. “If only he came home.”

Ron gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he will.”

* * *

George’s eyes go saucer wide in excitement when he hears the news the next morning. “I’m proud of you, Lip. I hope he’s hot.” He teases.

“Guys, we have a bet going on here!” Bill interjects from the other side of the court. They are at the Therian Community Centre with Joe’s friends - well, his pack, although Carwood prefers not to think about that -, and George is supposed to be playing half-court basketball as Joe’s teammate, but his head is not in the game at all.

“Did you try that dating app I told you about?” He keeps dribbling the ball with an absent-minded smile, catches it, then bounces it on the floor again.

A few feet away, Bill and Babe erupt in a cacophony of chortles while Joe groans. "Georgie, you can't do that!"

George flicks a strand of his floppy hair out of his eyes. "What?"

Joe shakes his head and jogs over to them. "Stop double dribbling and just pass me the ball, okay?"

"Okay." George smiles. He turns back to Carwood and opens his mouth to blabber on about something, but Joe hugs him from behind before he could speak and showers his cheek and neck in kisses.

“Pay attention.”

“I do.” George protests, then laughs when the pecks turn into nips and growls. “I do!”

He looks so happy that Carwood can’t keep from frowning at the guy who interrupts them. His melancholic features look familiar, but Carwood doesn’t put it together until he notices the Celtic pendant around his neck. It’s the selkie from the dating app! Christ, how awkward.

“Joe, someone's asking for you at the reception desk.” The guy says. His voice is gentle, but distant. “It's about the junior team, I think.”

“Shit.” Joe closes his eyes for a second. “I bet it’s a parent who thinks I’m the worst coach ever.”

George rubs Joe’s chest. “It’s a volunteer job, baby, don’t get too worked up over it.”

Joe sighs. “Thanks, Web. Wanna take over from me?”

“Sure.” The selkie says. His sad eyes light up, happy to be included. “I don’t know the rules though.”

“Don’t worry, Luz doesn’t either!” Babe cackles, and George gives him the finger, which makes them all laugh.

Carwood is about to offer a quick course about the basics of half-court basketball when his phone rings in his pocket. He picks it up and hears a cigarette-soaked, croaking voice. “Carwood, is this you, sweetie?”

“Mrs Mitchell?” He winces. If she needs him to repair the kitchen sink again, he’s going to cry.

“There’s a skunk - a giant skunk on your doormat!”

“Skunk?” Carwood’s heart skips a beat. “Don’t you mean a cat?”

“It’s too damn big to be a cat! I don’t need my glasses to see that.”

Carwood's lips curl into a radiant smile. “Thank you, Mrs Mitchell, I’ll take care of it.”

He hurries home as fast as he can, perhaps even speeding a little to avoid red lights, and runs up the steps to his apartment, rushing past his neighbours with barely a hello, because he needs to get his cat if it’s truly him, he needs to wrap Sparky in his arms and hug his fluffy little body, scratches and bites be damned. When he reaches his floor, the knot he has been carrying in his stomach for four days dissipates as if it has never even existed, because the ball of fur on his doorstep isn’t a wild animal, but his gigantic cat.

“Sparky!” He grins and crouches to pick Sparky up. “Where have you been, you silly boy? Where’s your collar?”

Sparky just yawns, headbutts Carwood’s chin and purrs. The little shit shows no remorse.


	5. Trouble Brews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that I finally found the time to finish this part! I hope you'll enjoy it. :)

It might have been the relief, Carwood thinks as he splashes water on his face with hands still shaking from the remnants of his nightmare. Or meeting Joe again. Or perhaps it was as simple as pent-up anxiety - it has been a while since he last scored a date and maybe all his fears of being unwanted found an outlet. Whatever it was, it made Carwood's night hell. He woke up to his own cry, to that scream-raw ache in his throat and cold fear in his chest. For a second, he thought he heard someone's shushing voice, but when he opened his eyes, he was alone with Sparky. At least, he didn't disturb anyone. The perks of bachelor life, huh?

It's not a big deal. He's been living with various keepsakes from his time overseas for years now and he knows they aren't permanent. Except for his scars. If his biggest problem was the fact that he wakes up screaming every other month, he'd be happier than he is. Carwood sighs at his reflection, sparing a resigned glance for his hairline, then returns to the bedroom. It could be much worse than fighting werewolf claws in his sleep when he's stressed. Night terror is nothing compared to war.

As soon as he opens the door, Sparky starts meowing at him.

"I'm fine." Carwood mumbles tiredly and flops face down on the mattress. Not satisfied with his half-hearted words, Sparky abandons his nest among the sheets and climbs on his back. A second later, mirror pinpricks of pressure dig into the tense muscles of Carwood's shoulder blades. Left, right, left, right, a steady tandem.

Carwood exhales into his pillow. "You can only use my back as a mattress if you stop kneading."

As if on cue, the prickling sensation stops, and Sparky's warm weight settles down on Carwood's body. Slow purrs start up like an engine and rumble above Carwood's heart. They make Carwood smile for a moment before he drifts off again. He sleeps through the rest of the night like a baby.

* * *

When he wakes up, he's alone in bed and his phone is lit up with an incoming text. He blinks the haze of sleep out of his eyes, then remembers Ron and their date and his excitement stings his cheeks rosy. He grins and opens the message.

_' **Good morning. How did you sleep last night?'**_

The curve of Carwood's lips flattens, but when he thinks of his cat, his smile returns. He’d rather not start off this relationship with a lovely chat about his ebb and flow of post-traumatic symptoms, so he decides not to mention it.

_'good morning :) '_

_'I was a little restless but Sparky helped'_

_'he likes to climb on me'_

He receives an instant reply.

_' **Because your heartbeat is calming.'**_

"I doubt that." Carwood chuckles and wonders what his hellcat is up to right now. He might be scavenging for food in the kitchen or slaughtering another sweater.

_'I don't think his motives are that sweet'_

**_'You'd be surprised'_** _,_ Ron’s next cryptic message says, then, ' ** _Are you still free today?'_**

Carwood’s oh-so-calm heartbeat speeds up until he feels its rapid-fire drumming against his chest. ' _Of course',_ he types.

**_'See you in a few hours then.'_ **

_'I can't wait :) '_

Excited beyond belief, Carwood all but jumps out of bed and hums to himself as he makes his way to the kitchen. He’s about to open the fridge and start on his breakfast when he hears a muffled curse from his bathroom, then a clatter. He startles. A thousand scenarios flash before his eyes. Is it a robber? He considers the distance to his gun before he shakes his head and approaches the closed room cautiously. He swears his flat feels haunted sometimes. It's his overactive alert system, he’s sure. It’s still under last night's influence. Sure enough, when he swings the door open, all he finds is Sparky, perched on the rim of the bathtub, demonstrating his extraordinary sense of balance.

“Sparky…” Carwood groans and sags in relief. The draft must have closed the door on his cat, and he was probably trying to get out. “You’re not allowed in here, remember?”

His scolding has little effect on Sparky, who just stares back with his unimpressed green eyes. Carwood can barely suppress his smile. It's impossible to discipline this devious little feline. He reaches for Sparky and picks him up, surprised to find that despite his indifferent demeanor, Sparky’s heart races and his breathing is quicker than usual. Carwood frowns. He hopes it’s not a sign of sickness.

"You must be thirsty." He mumbles, and Sparky responds by biting his thumb and squirming to be put down.

* * *

Ron is already waiting for him when Carwood finally gets to the El Cielo. It's one of those dark autumn afternoons when the deep blue of the sky starts bleeding into black and the dry leaves on the trees rattle. The wind chases pieces of dead vegetation down the streets and tugs on loose scarves and hair like an insolent child. Among the washed greys and browns of this paling world, the light bursting through the coffee shop's windows is a beacon of warmth.

Between a ceramic jack-o'-lantern and a chalkboard menu adorned with fake cobwebs, Ron's leaning against the wall and watches his surroundings like a panther checking its territory. His dark clothes blend him into the shadows. Even from a distance, Carwood can see when his eyes light upon a group of approaching teens and narrow. The kids jump and give him a wide berth as they pass by. It's terribly amusing to watch.

"Did they hire you as spooky decoration?" Carwood jokes when he's close enough.

Although his smile is elusive like a spark, Ron's entire aura changes from hostile to friendly and affectionate. "I volunteered."

Carwood laughs, then nods at the coffee shop. "Shall we go inside?"

They end up going upstairs, where the place is quieter and the colourful light bulbs hanging from the ceiling wrap the bookshelves, armchairs and cozy little tables in a magical atmosphere. Soft jazz mixes into the buzz of conversation drifting up from downstairs. Carwood inhales the scent of spicy coffee and fresh cookies, and bone-deep relaxation spreads through his limbs. He smiles at Ron and sees Ron's lips curl up to mirror him.

"This is my favourite time of day." Ron says wistfully after they sit across from each other with their orders.

"Dusk?"

Ron nods and glances out the window. "Everything feels clearer somehow."

Carwood stirs his coffee as he mulls it over. "You can see behind the masks people wear all day."

"Exactly." Ron gives him an approving look. "I admit I'm guilty of frequent people watching."

"That comes with the territory, doesn't it? As a detective." Carwood smiles and leans forward in his chair. He loves talking to Ron, it always feels like reading a book no one else is allowed to open. "How did you know I liked this place?"

Ron's expression turns playful. "Lucky guess."

He grabs his fork and cuts a bite off his slice of cake. Although his face doesn't give anything away, his hand shakes as the metal sinks into the crumb. It's obvious that tasks requiring fine motor skills still make him struggle.

"Is it permanent?" Carwood asks quietly as his eyes follow Ron's painstaking fight with his dessert.

"No." Ron exhales through his nose and switches the utensil to his left to spear a piece of cake. "I expect a full recovery by Christmas."

"That's good to hear." Carwood replies and takes a sip of his coffee. "What happened to the guy who did this to you?"

"He's on the run, but I'll find him."

"You sound certain."

"I am. It's only a matter of time. Rats have to leave the burrow to eat, and I'm always there to catch them when they do." Ron's smile is sharp and his eyes gleam. "I'm a patient hunter."

Carwood chuckles. "I bet you have some interesting stories to tell."

Ron leans closer over the tiny wooden table that separates them. "Do you want to hear one about my best catch?"

* * *

It's dark and almost closing time when they leave. Carwood waves Shifty goodbye and receives a wide smile in return that, perhaps due to a trick of the lights, seems to glow quite literally. Outside, the crispy smell of winter clings to the wind and fallen leaves dance on the damp pavement. Tightening the green scarf around his neck, Ron brushes Carwood's arm and offers to share a cab, but Carwood suggests they walk instead. If it means a few more minutes in Ron's company, he'll gladly take the bite of cold air on his overheated cheeks.

"I had a great time." He smiles at Ron under the flickering light of a streetlamp and touches his hand.

Ron glances at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Me too."

He takes Carwood's yearning hand and pulls it into his coat pocket. Their fingers stay laced together all the way home.

When they reach Carwood's building, they find a bunch of girls smoking and laughing a few feet away from the entrance, either coming or going to a party. Carwood doesn't feel comfortable saying goodbye with them so close, watching and giggling. For reasons he's not about to admit to himself, he wants to thank Ron for the date in private, undisturbed. Just a moment alone. Thankfully, Ron doesn't comment when he pulls him inside and up the stairs, doesn't say anything until they are right there by Carwood's front door and Carwood has fumbled his key into the lock.

"Do you want to come inside?" Carwood asks as he pushes the door open. He hates how his mouth goes dry from nerves and how hard it is to say that innocent question because of what it implies.

Ron strokes Carwood's upper arms with the back of his fingers. "I want to. But I don't think I should."

He's right, but it's dispiriting to hear him say it so easily. Despite the heat crawling up his nape, Carwood puts his fingertips on Ron's waist, inside his open coat, and nods. "Maybe next time?"

Ron huffs a smile. "Yes."

Although his answer seems final, Ron's hands don't fall away from Carwood's shoulders. They slip down to Carwood's elbows and back up in a slow caress until his right comes to rest on Carwood's collarbone. The tip of his thumb brushes Carwood's bare neck and rubs shivers into his skin. His fresh smell feels familiar and reminds Carwood of home. They're close enough now that he can see every shade in Ron's eyes, the outline where his stubble would be if he hadn't shaved, and the thin curve of his lips. He can hear it when Ron's breathing trembles and feels how the warmth radiating from his body blocks the cold draft of the stairwell.

"I need to tell you something." Ron whispers, but he falls silent when Carwood flattens his palms on his waist.

His sweater is soft, and his eyes are grey-green like the sea in this dim light as he closes and opens them to blink at Carwood slowly. When Carwood leans ever closer, he doesn't bridge the distance at first, just presses the tips of their noses together. There's a breathless laugh building in Carwood's throat, but then Ron's hands cup his face and the world beyond his touch ceases to exist because his lips are on Carwood's and they are kissing.

They make out in the empty hallway until Carwood's resolution not to repeat his invitation crumbles. His senses are filled with Ron's taste and scent and the firm press of his body as it pushes into the embrace of Carwood's arms, and he wants more. It has been too long. He raises his chin to return the passion Ron spills into the kiss and rubs Ron's chest above his heart. Ron hums, and it seems to reverberate through him like a purr.

"I'm sorry." He gasps and pulls back abruptly. "Sorry."

With the way his head reels, Carwood can't blame himself for gaping in confusion. "For what?"

Ron shakes his head, then flashes a fleeting smile. "I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow, all right?"

"All right." Carwood swallows and drops his hands. Jesus, he needs to get a grip. "Good night."

Ron steps away, exhales, then rushes back faster than lighting to entwine their hands and press his lips to Carwood's again. "Just one more."

Carwood smiles and lets Ron kiss his mumbled okay away.

* * *

A few days later, Carwood is slouching on his couch, watching Star Trek Beyond with George when his phone buzzes and displays a message from none other than the melancholic selkie from the Therian Community Centre. He found Carwood's profile through their mutual acquaintances and they struck up a conversation about basketball, of all things, then books. Web truly is a bookaholic, and Carwood likes him enough to say they are friends. So, as soon as he sees the text, he grabs his phone and starts typing a reply.

Until a set of claws sink into the back of his hand and pull at him.

"Ouch." Carwood says and gives his cat a pained look, even though Sparky's touch is relatively gentle and doesn't hurt. "Are you jealous, you little menace? You want me to pay attention to you, hm?"

George grins and scoops Sparky into his arms, earning himself an outraged growl. "Come on, I just want to be your friend." He whines but lets the cat go.

"He's selective." Carwood chuckles and puts his phone away before Sparky could knock it out of his hand.

George shakes his head. "He's feral, I'm telling you. Why else would he keep running away?"

It's a challenge for Carwood to resist rolling his eyes. "It was my fault, I left the door open while I was… saying goodbye to Ron. But he came right back the next night."

"Uh-huh. When you said goodbye."

"Don't -" At George's suggestive eyebrow waggle, he can't help but laugh. "Okay. Yes. We kissed, all right?"

"Knew it!" George crows, then quiets down when his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He raises his index finger, as if to tell Carwood gossip time isn't over yet. "Yes?"

"No, Babe, he had a meeting with that parent from Saturday. About the centre, yes." George sighs into the call. "Yeah, completely neutral smell. Must have used a scent-blocker."

At those words, Sparky stops headbutting Carwood's hand and goes still as a statue. Carwood frowns. What on Earth? As he watches, George's brows draw together too.

"He hates being late. No, I'll call him. Wait a sec." George dials another number on his phone. When Carwood mouths _'Joe?'_ , he nods. After a long, drawn-out moment, he switches back to Babe. "He's not picking up."

_"Fuck!"_ Carwood hears the tinny voice on the other end of the line and his pulse starts racing. Sparky jumps down from his lap and runs away, perhaps sensing the growing tension in the air.

A minute later, George hangs up and bites his lip. "Something's wrong." The pitch of his voice rises. "I can feel it. Lip, something is wrong."

They call all of Joe's friends, but no one has seen him since he left for that ominous meeting. In his desperation, George unravels faster than Carwood would have ever expected. In the span of a few minutes, he goes from his usual calm and collected self to someone at the edge of a breakdown. He keeps wringing his hands and pacing Carwood's living room, trying to convince himself that everything is fine. Carwood thinks of the recent series of anti-creature crimes and decides to call the cops.

He hasn't even managed to dial when Ron bursts into the room, dishevelled, his shirt askew. He runs over to Carwood's shoe rack and produces a gun and a police badge from one of the old, dusty boxes there.

Carwood is speechless. What the hell is happening? "Ron?!"

Ron doesn't look at him, but he reaches out and squeezes Carwood's arm as he turns to George. "Your boyfriend. He's a werewolf, right?"

George frowns at Carwood. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"I'm a cop. Now, answer me."

George startles, but doesn't protest the order. "Yes."

"Where was he supposed to meet that man? At the construction site by the community centre?"

"Yes." George spreads his arms in confusion. "Lip, what the fuck?"

Just like that, Ron is rushing towards the front door, too fast for Carwood to reach him before he runs down the stairs. Carwood goes after him without hesitation. He feels like he's on the precipice of a realisation, he's just too scared and confused to pinpoint it yet. He follows Ron outside and grabs his arm before he could get on the sleek black motorbike he's approaching.

"Ron!"

Ron turns, cups Carwood's face and presses a kiss to his lips. "I'll explain everything tomorrow, I promise."

"Where are you going?"

Ron's grin is vicious and wild as he jumps on his bike. "Hunting."

He looks up, and his eyes reflect the street light.

"What?" Carwood's breath catches as the puzzle pieces slot together. Glowing eyes, hunting, rats, silver... Shifter. Ron is a creature. Christ. _He is a shifter,_ and not just any shifter either, right? It's impossible. Impossible. And yet... "Ron?"

"This is not the time." Ron tells him with one last torn glance before he takes off and disappears into the night.

Carwood stands there for another second, shaken and hurt, then runs back upstairs to get his gun. He'll deal with his emotions later.


	6. The Wolf's Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how much you guys will like this one but I'm so happy I finally managed to finish it! 😊
> 
> Sorry for the long delay, I had some trouble finding motivation but I feel slightly better now.

Dark grey thunder rumbles in the sky and the heavy smell of rain lingers in the air. Between the construction site and the area where Carwood found his cat, a warehouse looms over the street, smearing its shadow on the pavement. The wind whistles eerily through the gaps between the bare, unfinished pillars on the opposite side. The neighbourhood is deserted. It does cross Carwood's mind that he might be crazy for doing this, but he refuses to stop long enough to second-guess himself. He can't sit at home wringing his knuckles while his friend is in danger. His thoughts are crystal clear on that. He's a trained soldier, he can take another run-in with death if it comes down to it. 

There's no sign of Ron or his bike, but something tells Carwood he's in the right place. As he looks up at the warehouse and its boarded-up windows, a gut feeling urges him to head that way instead of turning towards the construction site or the community centre right behind that. He approaches it cautiously. The doors he tries are all locked, but he finds a loose panel and peels it off to reveal a broken window, big enough for a grown man to fit through. Most of the glass shards have already been swept off the frame, so he heaves himself up and climbs in without much trouble. Is he following Ron's trail? Perhaps he is. Further inside the room, his eyes strain to adjust to the sudden darkness. Debris crunches under his boots, and he winces, going stock still for a moment. 

Then the wolf howls.

It's muffled, perhaps by a muzzle, but the agony and the primal bloodlust in it are terrifying. Carwood breaks out in a cold sweat and trembles deep inside. This is what he heard before two hundred pounds of muscle, fangs and claws knocked him to the ground on his last mission in the army. For a second, he can even feel the beast's breath on his skin and the warmth of his own blood dribbling down his leg. Another howl - it's a threat and a call for help in one, but it's cut short by the sound of metal scraping on concrete. Chains. Carwood exhales a shaky breath and reminds himself that he's not in a bombed-down house in the Middle East anymore. He's not going to be mauled by a rabid werewolf frothing at the mouth. Joe is his friend, and even shifted, his mind can't be fully gone, right? 

He takes his gun in hand and follows the noise into the guts of the building, down to the basement. It's utterly dark there save for a pale light glowing behind a row of rusty lockers, and he can hear them now, the kidnappers. At least three men arguing in hisses and growled curses that get lost in the violent sounds of struggle coming from Joe. The chains rattle. Now that he has found them, Carwood needs to call the cops, he knows, but he loses his chance to slip back out because he hears footsteps approaching and he can't do anything but stay hidden in the shadows. He swallows and braces himself for whatever is coming.

"What the fuck are we going to do with it now? All the bridges are swarmed by the police!" A smoke-raspy voice snaps, right on the other side of the lockers. 

"I don't know, but we're not putting its filthy body in my truck." Another guy fires back indignantly. He sounds familiar, but Carwood can't place it now, his mind is racing to find a way out of this without getting shot. He clenches his jaw. _Please, let Joe be okay…_

"You told me they would all look like accidents!" The third man continues, and they spiral into a shouting match.

"And I kept my word until you fucked up with that cop!"

"I panicked!"

It's a testament to Carwood's self-control that he doesn't cry out in fright when a figure detaches itself from the pipes on the ceiling and swings down with only the faintest of sounds, like a panther. It's Ron - but he doesn't quite look like himself. Or, well, maybe he looks more like himself than ever before.

In this almost pitch-black darkness, his wide-blown pupils reflect the dim light and seem to make his round eyes glow green. He hisses at Carwood soundlessly, and his canines are long and sharp like a feline's. He grips Carwood's wrist and the pinpricks of claws scrape the skin. Is this what a partial shift looks like?

"What the hell are you doing here?" He mouths, mere inches away from Carwood's face. "You're a civilian!"

Carwood is tempted to hiss back that he's not a clueless suit but a veteran, but he keeps his mouth shut instead. This isn't the time for such an argument. Ron closes his eyes, squeezing Carwood's hand hard in frustration, then makes a decision. He leans ever closer until his lips brush Carwood's ear.

"Stay here, I'll draw them away from the cage. Then give this to that wolf." He presses a vial into Carwood's palm. "It will help him shift back."

Carwood puts the hand holding his gun on Ron's shoulder. "Did you call for backup?"

Ron pulls back and nods, then takes a deep breath. Carwood wants to call after him or kiss him for good luck because, he realizes all of a sudden, he's scared for him. He doesn't want him to endanger himself even though it's Ron's job. There's a sharp pain in his heart because he's afraid and worried and an emotion too turbulent to name burns in his chest. He'd break if he lost Ron without resolving what happened between them.

Nevertheless, he lets Ron move away because his feelings don't matter when so much more is at stake. He watches with bated breath as Ron leaps up to grab the pipes again, then lowers himself on top of the lockers and draws his gun. He stays unnaturally still for a second, like a predator in the middle of a hunt, then jumps on the criminals.

Carwood can't see what happens, but he hears the shouts, the boom of fired weapons and the ricochets hitting the pipes, and he can barely hold himself back from running into it headfirst to help Ron. He was told to stay, so he will, damn it, he knows how to follow orders. 

Someone screams for silver bullets and another voice cries out in pain, but it's not Ron, can't be. "How the fuck is he still alive?" A man shouts, and Ron's voice yells back with something akin to delight.

"I have nine lives!"

As Carwood waits in the darkness, Ron retreats towards the stairs and two of the men run after him, leaving the basement in silence. It's broken only by Carwood’s shaky breaths and the wolf’s whimpers. He stands up and rounds the lockers cautiously, prepared to use his weapon if need be, but the third kidnapper is lying motionless on the ground, knocked out cold. Behind him, in a cage large enough to fit a grizzly, a giant grey wolf struggles with the bear trap snapped around his right leg. There's a black hood on his head, but it's still obvious that he snarls when Carwood steps closer to the criminal.

"Christ." Carwood mutters when he looks at the unconscious man's face and recognises him as Mr Sobel. 

_No way,_ he thinks at first, but then he remembers all the shady rumours he heard about him, all the awful things he saw with his own eyes, and most of his surprise dissipates. Disgusted, he searches Sobel's clothes for the key, but the only thing he finds is a silver knife. He pockets it and turns to Joe pensively. The wolf growls and backs away as much as his trapped leg allows.

"Shh, it's me, Lip." Carwood tries to soothe him. "Joe, do you recognise me?" 

Hearing his name has an instant effect on the wolf. His fearful aggression disappears and his snarls turn into whines as he tries to pull himself close enough to the bars that Carwood can reach the string that keeps the hood on his head. Pushing his instinctive fear to the back of his mind, Carwood sticks his right arm through a gap and manages to undo the knot with the tips of his fingers. When he pulls the fabric off and Joe looks at him with clarity in his eyes, he knows everything is going to be alright.

The distant sound of a police scanner drifts down to them from the top of the stairs.

* * *

  
  


It's astonishing that less than two hours ago he was sitting on his couch with his best friend, daydreaming about his crush and petting his cat. Now, he's in the back of a police vehicle with a blanket around his shoulders and his crush is looking at him with eyes that reflect the streetlight. He has dirt all over his clothes and a bandage on his forearm, but he looks just as handsome in the red-blue shadows of the emergency lights as he did in Shifty's coffee shop.

"Are you okay?" Carwood asks softly. Now that the adrenaline rush of the situation is gone, he feels himself deflate and the raw, confused feeling of betrayal starts to seep in. His cat isn't a cat and his… and _Ron_ is a liar. 

"Yes. It's just a scrape." Ron says and takes his right hand out of pocket, then puts it back awkwardly. He must have wanted to reach out, but realised he wouldn't be welcome. "You?"

Carwood nods, and they descend into silence. Rain begins to sprinkle from the gloomy night sky and Ron looks more and more miserable with every drop that reaches his skin. He stays still though and waits in silence until Carwood sighs.

"Come here." Carwood pats the space next to himself and scoots over to the other side of the backseat.

Ron takes the offer gratefully and shuts the car door after himself. He shudders. "I hate cold water."

His discomfort is almost funny in light of what Carwood knows about cats and water, but a split second of humor isn’t enough to elicit Carwood’s smile. "I should have noticed it much earlier." He shakes his head. "You're a werecat, aren't you?"

"Yes." Ron replies. "Feline shapeshifter, technically."

They watch each other for a drawn-out moment, and Carwood is tempted to say, _can we pretend tonight didn't happen?_ Just for a minute of comfort. But there's something he wants more than Ron's hug, more than physical reassurance - an explanation. "You promised you'd explain."

Ron looks down at his feet, then turns to Carwood with a resolute gleam shining in his eyes. "I can't tell you any details about the case, but I'll do my best."

"All right." Carwood nods and leans his head against the headrest. He's in for a long discussion.

It all came down to a botched investigation, he learns. The freak accidents and disguised murders of the past year weren't committed by a single radical anti-creature group, and that's where the police made a grave mistake. Blinded by their own assumptions and prejudices, they classified all the cases as hate crimes. They didn't spot the pattern, the common point that connected those specific victims who were targeted because of their involvement in the community centre. 

"It's simple. They want to build a luxury mall and the centre is in the way. Some corporate big shot had enough of the legal battle and looked for a shortcut." Ron purses his lips and nods at the car one of Joe's kidnappers is sitting in. "Those three joined the protests to pick out the most influential targets. Pack alphas, for example."

Carwood takes a deep breath to avoid swearing out loud in rage. He hopes they will rot in prison for the rest of their lives. Killing people for a piece of land... How can greed drive a person to do such horrible things to another? How can anyone be that cruel? It's the saddest thing about human nature. The world could live in peace if only people got over their selfish desire to possess more than they need. 

Ron thumbs at the scar in the middle of his palm. "I think they knew I was on their tail, so they set up a trap, and I was stupid enough to walk into it." 

It's hard to resist the temptation to reach over and take Ron's hand, but Carwood stops himself just before his muscles twitch to move. None of the things Ron revealed justify what he has done to Carwood. He played with him, with his feelings, and took advantage of his loneliness. How pathetic Carwood must have been… He confessed some of his most personal thoughts to Sparky because he thought he would still be loved by him. He should have known it wasn't that simple, the signs were there all along, right in front of his eyes. He just decided to ignore them because they didn't seem plausible. Stupid, so stupid.

"How did you escape?"

The hint of a smile appears on Ron's face. "When they transferred me to Nonhuman Offenses, I started drinking silver-nitrate with my morning coffee so that I could tolerate it better."

_"What?"_ Is Ron crazy? For a shapeshifter, that sounds like Russian roulette. "Did you seriously poison yourself? Why?"

"I took non-lethal doses to build up immunity." Ron replies, looking smug under the impassive mask he's trying to keep on for Carwood's forgiveness. "So, even though they broke my hand and gave me enough colloidal silver to kill a werewolf, I just lost consciousness." He winces. "Then woke up in the trash. They must have thought I was dead."

"I'm just glad they didn't throw you in the river." Carwood whispers, and he and Ron share a smile. No matter how confused and hurt he still is, he can't discard the bittersweet fondness in his heart. "Why did you let me… adopt you?"

Ron rubs his forehead and makes a face. Is this what he looks like when he's embarrassed? "Carwood, I don't think I had a single clear thought for days."

"It was worse than it looked like, wasn't it?"

Ron shrugs, downplaying it. "An occupational hazard."

"I doubt it's in the job description." Carwood mutters. They fall silent again and listen to the rain hit the car in a gentle, rhythmic drizzle. It's cold, but Carwood doesn't want another officer to come and start the engine just yet, because this conversation would be over then. It would leave them at an impasse. "But why did you come back?"

Ron takes a long time to answer and when he does, his voice is missing the sharp confidence he tends to radiate even as a cat. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to be close to you."

Carwood's gaze follows a raindrop as it trickles down the window and collects the wetness into a small river. "I don't know what to say. You made a fool out of me." 

He turns to Ron and meets his crestfallen eyes. "I feel violated. You've seen parts of me I didn't mean to share with you."

Ron looks devastated. "I know I've crossed a line."

"Yeah." Carwood sighs, but when he feels Ron's fingertips on the back of his hand, he doesn't pull it away. He and Ron stare at each other until someone opens the trunk and all the noises they shut out come flooding back through the opening to shatter the moment.

"Will you forgive me?" Ron asks, even as he reaches for the door handle.

"I don't know." Carwood frowns. "I need some time to think."

"I understand." Ron nods, and with one last sorry, he climbs out of the car and steps out into the doleful rain.


	7. When You're Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carwood makes up his mind about his relationship with Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses, but my muse finally stopped by yesterday and I finished this last chapter. :) Many thanks to all of you who left me some kind of feedback, especially Lysel and fromcrossroadstoking. It meant a lot!

Carwood doesn't talk to Ron for weeks. His hurt is an open gash across his chest. When he thinks of the things Ron has done, his stomach roils. But at the same time, he misses Ron's company with a sharp, aching emptiness that ruins his days, and he can’t get over it. He doesn’t have the heart to throw away Sparky’s things either. The sweater he tore to shreds then claimed as his favourite blanket, his catnip mouse, his cat bed… They’re reminders of the contentment he felt with his pet, and in a way, of the fact that maybe he wasn’t the only one who shared a private, vulnerable part of his life, but Ron did too.

He’s just as paralysed by some inexplicable emotion when he tries to delete Ron’s messages and cut him out of his life. He stares at them and tries not to cry, because the more he thinks about them, the clearer it becomes that Ron never really lied to him outright. He hid the truth because he didn’t know how to reveal it after all those weeks spent locked into his cat form and Carwood’s apartment. But he didn't lie.

Some of their memories together get a new meaning too, now that Carwood can look at them in a different light. Like the day Mrs Mitchell tried to sell them silver, Ron’s attitude towards birds or Ron’s explanation for Sparky's behaviour, his words... _‘Your heartbeat is calming.’_ He knew exactly what he was talking about and he meant it. He slept in Carwood’s embrace a dozen times, if not more. It’s about as creepy as it is endearing, and Carwood can’t make up his mind about it. Can he accept this messed-up past and build a relationship on it? Because even in his confusion, there’s one thing he knows. He can’t be Ron’s friend if he can’t be his lover too. There's no path in-between.

It doesn’t help his internal struggle that a few days before Christmas, he finds a thick envelope in his mailbox. It's white and nondescript, but Carwood handles it carefully anyway. He opens it with trembling fingers under the dim light of the lobby.

_Dear Carwood,_

_Nothing I could say would justify what I’ve done, I know that. I intruded in your life and took the love and trust you meant for an innocent animal as my own. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I want you to know that every part of me returned those feelings._

_Yours,  
_ _Ron_

Carwood finds himself tracing the words with the pads of his fingers, touching every divot and bump Ron’s handwriting made in the paper. He stares at it until the dark lines are smeared away by the dampness blurring his vision. He hugs himself in the grey, empty stairwell and lets the sorrow wash over him. Sparky’s beautiful blue collar falls out of the envelope and into his palm.

* * *

Going home for Christmas is a blessing. It helps him forget his misery and clear his head a bit. His mom cooks his favourites and soothes all his invisible wounds with her endless patience and acceptance. For two peaceful days, Ron doesn't enter his thoughts until nightfall, when he lies awake in his old bed and wishes he could transform into a cat to comfort himself. Late at night on Boxing Day, he and his mom have a long conversation in the tinted light of the Christmas tree. Telling her about his broken heart lifts a weight off his chest. Perhaps all he needed was someone to tell him that it’s okay to love a man who will never be apple-pie perfect. Maybe he had to hear her say it, that it doesn't make him weak or a bad son. It's okay to love someone who doesn't follow the rules. He needed her reassurance to know that even if his life doesn’t live up to a textbook dream, he can be happy in it.

Forgiveness gets easier after that.

He’s tempted to call Ron immediately upon his return to the city, but he doesn’t know what to say after such a long time and he’d rather not bother him at an inopportune time. He could be with his own family. Why would he need a reminder of his mistakes?

Carwood decides to wait until January, but, as it turns out on New Year’s Eve, he shouldn’t have worried about the timing.

“Lip, he’s been moping around like a lovesick puppy.” George informs him while they’re setting the table for dinner at his and Joe’s place. Apparently, he’s been in regular contact with another cop from Ron's district because they struck up a friendship when they recorded his and Joe’s statements about the kidnapping. Typical.

“He’s the opposite of a puppy.” Joe mutters in the living room, watching the Sydney fireworks on YouTube. 

“You know what I mean.” George waves him off without turning to look at him. “He volunteered to work during the holidays. You can’t convince me that he’s not punishing himself.”

Carwood sighs and grabs the handful of forks George holds out for him. “I’ll call him tomorrow and we’ll see how it goes.”

George raises his hands in that dramatic way he does when he’s about to drop a fierce remark. “In my humble opinion -” Joe snorts at that. “- you’re just stalling.”

“I’m not.” Carwood denies indignantly, then leaves the kitchen to get the door, because the doorbell rings.

“You need to do this in person!” George yells after him.

Ignoring him, Carwood opens the front door. He expects Bill and Babe but finds five people on the other side. They’re all grinning and flushed from the bite in the air.

“We ran into these morons at the corner store.” Bill gestures at the others with the case of beer he’s holding in his hand.

“Webster here bought sparkling grape juice.” Babe continues with his cackling laugh.

“It looked like champagne!” Web returns and pouts as they make their way past Carwood into the flat. Behind them, Tab is holding a bag of snacks in one hand and has the other clasped around Shifty’s.

“Oh, and Talbert’s boyfriend got carded.” Bill chortles from the other end of the hall.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Shifty says shyly, not acknowledging Bill’s teasing. It might be an illusion caused by the streetlight, but it looks like there’s an actual glow of happiness radiating from his skin when Carwood welcomes him with a warm smile. He goes inside, but Tab lingers in the doorway, obviously looking for a moment alone with Carwood.

“Lip.” He begins, vibrating from excitement. “We had sex.”

Carwood doesn’t need a mirror to know that his face has just turned bright red. “Good for you.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Tab whispers impatiently. “We slept together, and he was so sweet, I couldn’t -”

“You fed.”

“Yes.” Tab exhales in relief that he doesn’t have to spell it out. “He didn’t even notice it! He didn’t pass out or anything. I think he’s going to stay around.”

“Oh.” It finally dawns on Carwood. None of Tab’s human conquests were able to put up with his nature before, not a single one. They didn’t have enough energy for an incubus' appetite. It’s astonishing and quite odd if Shifty didn’t even notice it.

“He’s special.” Tab says with a dreamy look on his face.

Carwood laughs and claps him on the back. “All right, Casanova, come inside already.”

They have a fun evening together. Nothing complicated or extravagant, just laughter, anecdotes, great food and booze. Carwood opts for Web’s non-alcoholic juice, not really in the mood to get wasted tonight. Every few minutes, his thoughts turn to Ron and sober him up from the buzzed atmosphere that fills the apartment. He can’t help but think of a deserted police station, only a couple fluorescent lights lit up and Ron straight-backed at his desk, ringing in the new year in the company of his paperwork. This is how Carwood imagines him, and it makes his heart ache. He should stop being a coward and call him.

“How’s your leg?” Webster turns to Joe when they’re pleasantly full of dessert and George has started getting touchy-feely with everyone within arm's reach.

Joe’s expression turns sour. He takes a big gulp of his beer. “I’ll live.”

“He’s pissed off.” George adds, rubbing Joe’s shoulder and biceps. “They pumped his stomach in the hospital but the wolfsbane got into his bloodstream anyway.”

“Shut up, George.” Joe growls. Bill and Babe wince in unison, but Web doesn’t understand the significance of that sound and presses on.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that this is as good as it gets.” Bill explains before Joe could rile himself up any further. “The limp won’t heal, it’s permanent.”

Joe glares like he’s about to shift and bite Bill’s hide for that. The sharp anger in his eyes doesn’t go away until George stands up and hugs him from behind, laying a kiss on his temple.

“But he’s here, and that’s all that matters.” George says, then gives Carwood a calculating glance. “Thanks to Lip’s cat and his anti-aconite.”

Half of the boys frown in confusion while Carwood blushes. “He’s not a cat.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Joe grumbles.

“He's a cop, isn’t he?” Babe blinks, eyes already hazy from the alcohol. "A cop cat. Cop-y-cat." He giggles, despite the pained groans he receives from everyone else.

“Yes.” George nods, satisfied with this turn in the conversation. “And he’s all alone tonight because Lip is too chickenshit to talk to him.”

“George!” Carwood scowls, betrayed. It’s not their business, and he didn’t want to talk about it. Not here, not yet.

“It’s true.” George shrugs without a hint of guilt. Web and Shifty wear the same clueless, sad expression, looking at Carwood expectantly. That’s the last drop - Carwood’s cup of emotions overflows. Damn it, he'll do it, just let him be!

“All right, I’ll go talk to him.” He snaps and stands up from the table.

“I’ll come with you.” George offers immediately, but Joe pulls him down on his lap, and that’s a pretty convincing argument in favour of staying. Carwood gives him an exasperated look, then warns them that he’ll be back by midnight and goes to grab his coat. Ron had better be willing to stop working and join their party.

* * *

Ron’s precinct on New Year’s Eve is nothing like he expected. First of all, it’s not cold, and the building is far from empty. The number of cars parking in front of it should have been a clue, but Carwood marched inside half-blind from nerves and didn’t take note of it. There’s no one at the reception desk but the sound of laughter drifts out from the adjoining office, so he follows the noise. The lights don’t flicker like they do in cheap horror movies, but Carwood feels a gripping fear nevertheless. What if Ron doesn’t care about him anymore? What if he has to go home humiliated? It wouldn't be his first time being rejected like that.

He stops dead in his tracks when he walks in and sees about a dozen police officers crowding around a table loaded with cookies and bottles of soda. Some of them are wearing silly plastic goggles or cone party hats, and there's confetti on the floor. Carwood is not the only one who’s surprised though - several of them freeze and stare at him from across the room like he's holding the headlights and they’re the deer. It’s one of the most awkward moments of Carwood’s life. He grinds his teeth.

“Carwood?” Ron’s voice calls out from the right, where he’s standing by the door of an elegant office next to a scruffy guy in a suit.

 _“That_ Carwood?” The stranger asks, raising one of his thick eyebrows. “The one who put the bell on you?”

 _“Nix.”_ Someone’s warning voice comes from the office.

Carwood doesn't know how to address that comment, but it fuels his hope. They've heard of him, so Ron must have mentioned what happened between them, right? Did he think of Carwood as often as Carwood thought of him?

“Hi.” He turns to Ron, self-conscious under the weight of all this attention.

“Hi.” Ron echoes with a tiny, fleeting smile, then seems to snap out of it and gives his coworkers a glare. They turn back to the snacks hastily, and the cheerful conversation resumes. Only the stubbled guy, Nix, keeps watching them with a smirk.

Ron crosses the distance between them, eyes wide. Pulling up a mask of professionalism, he clears his throat. “Do you want to report an incident?”

Carwood can’t resist an amused smile. “No. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Ron’s expression is way too serious for the giddy sensation that begins to bubble in Carwood’s veins, but, Carwood supposes, this conversation must be even more nerve-wracking if you’re the one who has to apologise.

“Can we go somewhere private?” He asks quietly, and Ron nods.

They end up in an interrogation room, which makes for a rather funny place for the discussion they're about to have. On autopilot, Ron goes for the seat opposite Carwood before he pauses, thinks better of it and sits in the chair beside him instead. Carwood resists the laugh that threatens to burst out of his chest and leans sideways against the backrest of his seat to face Ron. Their knees almost touch.

“I got your letter.” He starts.

They’re close enough that he can see that Ron’s pupils are blown wide. He’s stock still, as if he expects an attack against all the vulnerability he has shared with Carwood. As if he expects to be hurt.

“Did you read it?”

“Of course.” Carwood assures him gently. “I talked to my friends about it, and Joe gave me some advice.”

“The werewolf?” Ron loosens up a little, switching back to work-mode. “How is he?”

“Still limping, but he’ll be fine.” Carwood replies. “He helped me understand what you meant by that last sentence.”

Ron drops his gaze to the table. "I tried to be clear."

"You were." Carwood scoots forward another inch and leans his left leg against Ron's right, hoping that the contact will help him break the ice. "But he explained a few things about shifting that they don't teach you at school."

Ron looks up and searches his eyes for a long beat. “It’s difficult to find someone who can connect with a shifter.”

Carwood nods. “Because it doesn’t work unless you like them in both forms.”

“Yes.”

“So…” Carwood’s lips pull up in a lopsided smile. He touches Ron's left knee with two fingertips, tapping a random rhythm on it. “Does that mean that Sparky likes me?”

Ron returns the smile, but a moment later, it fades from his face. His gaze turns soft and when he speaks, his voice sounds dead serious in the cool room. “I love you.”

 _Love._ God… Carwood gapes, taken aback. He just wanted to ease the pressure a little, but he should have expected Ron to take it seriously, shouldn't he? His heart speeds frantically in his chest and his stomach flutters from the flock of butterflies suddenly residing in it. A strange sensation pours down on his body, hot water and a spring breeze. “I -”

“I’m sorry.” Ron apologises. He looks like he’s dying inside. “I didn’t mean to - fuck.”

He grabs Carwood’s forearm, turning to look at the mirror. Anywhere but at Carwood's eyes. “Can we go outside? This isn’t as private as I imagined.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can hear them eavesdropping on the other side.” He stands up and reaches for the door handle. “Let's get out of here."

Carwood has the impression that Ron is just trying to buy some time to collect himself after confessing too early to even hope for reciprocation, but he doesn’t mention it. He follows Ron out to the dark parking lot and sits on the railing with him, exhaling small clouds of mist into the freezing air. Here, under the comfort of the night sky with the city’s breathing as a soundtrack to their conversation, the distance feels smaller between them. The light of the station reflects in Ron’s eyes if it hits them from the right angle. Carwood watches that flickering green glow for a moment before he takes Ron’s hand. His thumb seeks out the uneven spot in the center, remembering a mangled paw.

“I’m not mad at you anymore.”

Ron pulls Carwood’s hand closer to hold it with both of his. “You should be.”

“I know.” Carwood tells him earnestly.

Neither of them speaks for a minute after that, and in the light, tender silence, the tension dissolves. They let it drift away with the ebb and flow of the sweeping wind. Ron keeps caressing Carwood’s hand like it’s precious and elusive. When he raises it to his lips and presses a kiss to Carwood’s skin, they look at each other. Ron's eyelashes flutter.

"I missed you." He whispers.

Carwood falls into his arms then, hugging him as tightly as he dares and breathing him in. He tucks his nose against Ron’s neck and closes his eyes. "I missed you too."

Ron sighs. It's long and shaky like a brick wall crumbling down to reveal a hidden meadow. He clutches at Carwood’s waist and presses their heads together. A few seconds later, his chest starts rumbling in synchrony with his breathing.

Carwood pauses to listen for a second, then pulls back just enough to look into Ron’s eyes. He's not entirely sure what he hears, but it doesn't seem like a rumbling stomach. “I didn’t know you could purr in this form.”

The vibration cuts off instantly, which makes Carwood laugh. He got it in one. “You don’t have to stop, I like it.”

Ron sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Sorry, it was instinctual.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to confuse you. I’m not a cat.”

“Of course not.” Carwood smiles fondly and cups Ron’s cheek with his right hand. “You just purr when you’re happy.”

Ron huffs, then surges forward and kisses him with a force that knocks the breath out of them both. Carwood doesn't mind. He tangles his fingers in Ron's hair and melts into their embrace. The soft sound of Ron's lips pressing to his becomes the only noise not drowned out by the joy in his heart. 

_~End~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have plans to write more in this verse (e.g. Shifty's and Tab's story), but it all depends on how inspired I'll feel. Thank you for reading this story! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sparky the klepto kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633350) by [Lysel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysel/pseuds/Lysel)




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